SERIES:  His World

PART: 1 of 1

RATING:  NC-17 (Het porn, including oral)

PAIRING(s): L/L

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CATEGORY: Smut, Romance

FEEDBACK: PLEASE?!

SETTING IN TIMELINE:   Post-show AU

SPOILLER/SUMMARY: “I’d Rather Live In His World Than Live Without Him In Mine.”  (Lavenny.  Smut.  Midnight Train to….?)

NOTES:  Inspired by music this time.

***

“I’d rather live in his world than live without him in mine.” – Dozinger/Holland/Dozinger – Midnight Train to Georgia

***

Rolling over in an empty bed, Laverne found her alarm clock, its unforgiving yellow hands glowing at her like an intergalactic pointer.  Four in the morning.

She pulled the pillow over her head.   The struggle she’d fought last night blazed on:  go to San Francisco or stay in bed and try to hack her morning shift at Cowboy Bills?

He doesn’t want you there, she reminded herself.  He’s a big star now.  He probably doesn’t even think about you.  All this love stuff is in YOUR stupid head.

She rolled over again and greeted the sunrise.  Getting up, she laughed at the irony of feeling this way about Lenny Kosnowski.

***

“I think you missed a spot.”  Laverne barely heard Carmine as she automatically polished the table top.  “I was joking,” he pointed out.  “Hey!  Earth to Laverne: Cadet Ragusa calling…”

She started.  “Gee, Carmine, I’m sorry!   I didn’t see you come in.”

“I noticed,” he smirked.  “What’s wrong?”

Laverne shrugged.  “Nothing’s wrong.”

“Either something’s wrong or you suddenly have a deep hatred for tables.”  He pulled out a chair and urged her to sit down.  “Stop hurting the table – he didn’t do anything to you.”

Laverne rolled her eyes, remembering back to the days when she’d hated Carmine with a passion.  Now she felt comfortable enough to confide anything in him.   Doing as he asked, she said, “it’s about Lenny.”

“D’you get another telegram from Mister Showbiz?” Carmine glowered.

“Don’t be jealous,” Laverne teased.

“I ain’t jealous.”  In a low tone, he growled, “you think he’d throw me a coupla bones…”

“What bones?  He’s in a folk rock group!   Since when can you sing ‘Kon-E-Lee’ on pitch?”  They shared a laugh, but she continued, “I miss him.”

“Much as I hate to admit it, I miss him, too,” Carmine admitted.

“I MISS miss him,” Laverne added.    He stared at her blindly.  “You don’t know?”

“My name’s not Karnac Ragusa.”

“Yanno how me and Len were spending a lot of time together…after Squiggy died…” Laverne didn’t like to talk about those horrible months…about the drunk driver in the Buick who had ended Squiggy’s life.  The fact that it could have happened to any of them only encouraged her to avoid thinking about it.   But not thinking about Squiggy wasn’t an option for Lenny – his best friend seemed to haunt the scene no matter the day or time.

Carmine shrugged.  “You guys were always close.”

“Yeah, well, we got a lot closer before he left for San Francisco.” 

Carmine’s eyes widened.  “Woah ho!” he leaned in.  “So, how was it?”

Laverne glared at him.  Carmine was, as always, starting to get on her nerves.  “We didn’t do THAT,” Laverne retorted.  “But we got to know each other real good.   It started feeling better and better to be with him.  Then he started saying he needed to go to San Francisco, to the music scene on the Haight to make his name.”

Carmine nodded.  “He wants Squiggy to be proud of him.”

“I know.  He’s never gonna get over losing him.”

“Time heals all wounds,” Carmine said prosaically.  His dark eyes examined her closely.  “You knew he needed to go somewhere fresh but you fought like hell to have him stay here.”

“I didn’t want him to leave.   Carmine, I can’t stop thinking about him, and I keep waiting for the phone to ring.”   She admitted, low so her father couldn’t hear, “I think I’m in love with him.”

To her horror, Carmine began braying.  She nailed him down with her most blunt DeFazio glare, but still he couldn’t stop laughing.  Wiping his now-watering eyes,  he said, “Sonny owes me twenty bucks.”  She hadn’t thought of her ex-boyfriend in five years, but the fact that Carmine had made a bet with him about her romantic life made her want to squeeze his neck ‘til  his brown puppy dog eyes popped right out of his skull.  “I told him this’d happen,” Carmine wheezed.

“Whaddya mean, you always knew?” she snapped.  “I didn’t even know until now!”

“You’n Lenny’re close,” Carmine noted.  “And he’s always had a thing for you.  Deep down, you’ve always had a thing for him, too.  You didn’t know?  You were  kinda obvious about it...”

“I have not had a thing for Lenny for years!”

“Okay – hypothetical situation – we’re back in Milwaukee and Shirley did something horrible.”

“Like what?”

“She used your collection of True Confessions for confetti!  You can’t talk to Shirley.  Who do you talk to?”

“Le-,” she stopped, swallowed hard.  Carmine laughed himself hoarse.  “I still can’t go see him.  He’s some big star living in some fancy hotel.”  She nibbled her lower lip.  “He sent me a telegram yesterday asking me to come up for the weekend.  But I’m kinda…afraid.”

“Afraid?”

“He’s somebody now.  I’m nobody.”

“You’re always gonna be someone to Len.”

“Nah.”

“Yeah, and you’re gonna prove it.  You got the name of his hotel?”

“The Saint Lucia.”

“Go,” Carmine urged her.

“But…”

“If you don’t, you’ll never stop wondering ‘what if,’” an old shadow grayed Carmine’s features briefly, making him an old man in four seconds.  Just as quickly it was gone.

“POP,” Laverne bellowed, “I’m taking off the rest of the day.”

Her father was cursing, but Laverne had made up her mind.  “Thanks, Carmine,” she said, and squeezed his hand.  He smiled back and his shadowed face lifted.

For once she was glad she had him to turn to.

*** 

Peeking out the window of a Peter Pan bus, Laverne cast disbelieving eyes on the run-down heap of a building before her.  She looked again at the telegram Lenny had sent, then at the faded golden letters carved into the front of the building.  This dump couldn’t be the Saint Lucia Hotel.

“Hey lady!  You’re holding up the 705!”

Laverne jumped at the harsh staccato of the bus driver’s accent.  Well, it wouldn’t do her any harm to go inside and ask the front desk.   And so she left the bus with her old plaid suitcase in hand, pushed open the dirty glass door and walked in confidently.  A man with a beer gut and hairy knuckles sat behind the sticky reception desk, flipping through a copy of the LA Times.

“Hi,” she said.  He grunted and turned the page.  “I’m looking for a guy named Kosnowski…”

A fist slammed the desk – the paper flew by her ear.  “THAT BUM!  Tell him that he’s out of here by tonight!”

Laverne frowned.  “You’ve gotta be confusing him with somebody else.  The Kosnowski I’m looking for is in a big folk rock band, the Green Eyes…”

Desk Man rolled his eyes.  “He goes to work, comes back here and goes out to eat.  I know musicians, and he doesn’t make a peep.  HE ALSO NEVER PAYS HIS FUCKIN’ RENT!” he shouted, Laverne knew, hopefully loud enough for Lenny to hear him.

“Which one is he staying in?”

“38.  Tell him to get out before twelve.”

Laverne rushed past the desk, to the black iron staircase on the far wall.  Up two flights and a door down was Room 38, and there she knocked incautiously, bellowing  “LENNY!” in that rehearsed DeFazio scream.  The lock slipped open and there he was.

His hair was longer, shaggy around his face and bleached by the sun.  He wore a white poncho and old jeans, and the oddest expression.  Weight had been lost and it made his cheekbones stick out in sharp lines.  He was glad to see her, he was embarrassed to be caught in a lie.

When he spoke it was in that soft, deep tone he only used on her.  “You shoulda c-.”

She threw her arms around him and pressed her lips to his, pushing them both backwards into the room.  His skin on hers blew apart her confusion about the feelings she had for him.  It wasn’t an era for words.  They kissed hard, deep, long before he pulled her deeper into his sanctum and kicked the door closed behind them. 

His poncho hit the floor, followed by her blouse and bra.  He let her go to pull off his motorcycle boots and she studied his new leanness  - which somehow hadn’t shrunken down his very full but marble-white behind.  Her pumps and hose were on the floor by the time he turned around.  His eyes were huge, round and overbright with desire – she expected to be tackled back onto the couch but instead he stood there in his jeans, staring at her.  Finally he reached out for her and she moved forward, fitting herself to his grip.  She barely had patience enough to endure his gentle touch as his hand slipped beneath the waistband of her skirt.

She  unzipped it along her side,  barely gave him time to get his hand out of the way before shoving it down her legs.   Disengaging from the kiss she walked backward, sitting down on the arm of the couch and slipped off her panties in what, she hoped, was an alluring gesture.  Bracing herself against the furniture, she hoped Lenny got what she wanted him to do.  He stood there open-mouthed and wide-eyed, gaze fixed between her legs.  She heaved a sigh and tossed  her panties playfully at him. 

That seemed to do the trick.  Laverne laughed as he frantically stripped off his jeans and undershorts in one movement and stumbled over to her, raining kisses against her forehead and lips.  His hands were all over her at once, ghosting between her legs, touching lightly.  She shuddered and spread her thighs wider, pressing her toes to his spine.

He understood, grabbing her about the waist and sitting her on the arm of the couch.  A quick dip of his hips and he was slipping easily home.  She smiled at the warm, full feeling, then opened her eyes to see him staring down at her with his superheated, semi-vacant blue eyes.  She moaned and crossed her ankles about his back, wrapping her arms around his neck as her back curved, lifting, giving him room to move within her as they kissed.

They made music together.  That was the simplest way to put it.   Staring into his eyes she felt as if she’d made it home after a century-long journey, but it was a feeling unfortunately and unmercifully brief.  Together, they sped toward the final flourish  - her name shouted aloud, his cried against his chest.

The position had brought them great pleasure, but it was quickly becoming uncomfortable.  Like sloths they rolled onto the couch, he on top of her, then slipping carefully beside.  In the muted orange sunshine pouring through the hotel room window, they held each other.

“I’m sorry I lied,” he finally said.  “I just wanted everyone to think I was doing good…”

She squeezed his skinny arm.  “It’s okay, Len…”

“No it’s not.  I don’t like to lie.  And it’s been horrible here, Laverne,” he said.

“Are you gonna come home with me?”

He lowered his head.  “That’d be the easy way out.”

“Len,” her hand tightened again.  “I don’t wanna go home without you.”

“I can’t go there.  But I don’t wanna stay here,” he laughed ruefully.  “I can’t stay here.  I lost my job waiting tables and they’re gonna kick me out…”

“You waited tables?”  she couldn’t imagine Lenny managing that delicate balancing act, but he nodded.  “Maybe we don’t have to go back to Burbank,” she suggested.  “Maybe we could go somewhere together.”

“Vernie…” he said nervously, “I don’t got any prospects right now.  I don’t got a band, or a streetcorner to play on, or nothing.  I dunno where I’m gonna be in the next year…”

“Neither do I, but I don’t care.  And I’m not even afraid,” she laughed.  “Guess Carmine’s right – we were meant to be together.”

“Carmine?” his nose wrinkled.

“Long story,” she kissed his collarbone and began drawing invisible script “L’s” on his chest.   “Don’t leave me again.”

Lenny kissed her hand before resting his back on the couch.  “I promise.  We’ll do it together,” she told him.  “Forever.”

His words had an amusing double-meaning to her.  She smiled against his chest, falling slowly into a sweet, deep sleep.  He was right - they had no clue what would happen next.  But whatever waited in the future, they would never be apart again.